


show your paintings

by witching



Series: oxford comma [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexuality Spectrum, Banter, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Heart-to-Heart, Honesty, Kissing, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Season/Series 04, Sex Talk, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male Character, kink discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: “I’m curious about something.” Jon murmurs the words into the crook of Martin’s neck, soft and casual, breaking a long stretch of silence. Martin stirs slightly under him, makes a small hum to encourage him to continue. “I’d like to ask you a question, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”/ jon wants to understand some of martin's more abstruse mental processes.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: oxford comma [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757500
Comments: 11
Kudos: 249
Collections: The Magnus Archives (TMA) - Lost Collections





	show your paintings

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel to 'he always tells the truth' but it isnt entirely necessary to have read that to understand this. all you really need to know is theres a scene in it where jon snaps and goes off on elias bc hes protective of martin, and martin has eyes and a brain so he obviously thinks thats very hot. anyway i still think you should read the other fic, but thats mostly bc i like it when ppl read my fic

_why would you lie about anything at all?_  
_first the window, then it's to the wall_  
_why would you tape my conversations?_  
_show your paintings at the united nations_  
_lil jon, he always tells the truth_

_// vampire weekend, 'oxford comma'_

* * *

“I’m curious about something.” Jon murmurs the words into the crook of Martin’s neck, soft and casual, breaking a long stretch of silence. Martin stirs slightly under him, makes a small questioning hum to encourage him to continue. “I’d like to ask you a question, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

His eyebrows lifting in polite curiosity, Martin shifts his position, sits up and turns to see Jon’s face. “Sure, love,” he says gently, his voice thick from disuse and near-sleep, “what’s up?”

Jon clears his throat, squirms a bit, his face heating up rapidly. When he speaks, it's with a small voice, high and quiet like he's afraid of reproach. “Well – do you remember… when you said… when you said I was h-hot?”

“You’ll have to narrow it down a bit,” Martin teases with a warm smile. “I have said that more than a few times.”

“I mean…” Jon ducks his head, blushing something fierce, and takes a breath before gathering his wits enough to elaborate on what he means. “I mean, when I – when we were – and I yelled at Elias?”

“Mhm?” Martin nods, unperturbed by the reminder, in spite of Jon's apparent discomfort.

It takes another moment of thought, a heavy, quiet pause, before Jon figures out what to say. “I guess I’m wondering where, specifically, the appeal comes from.” Martin gives a thoughtful hum and frowns deeply, but doesn’t offer an answer immediately, so Jon rambles on, his distaste for gaps in conversation bordering on fearful. “I – I mean I suppose, just because it was so – unexpected? I’m not great at these things, but. Well, personally, I was rather ashamed of my behavior, and I guess I'm still just trying to wrap my head around how you could… enjoy that.”

Martin’s arm tightens around Jon’s shoulder, just briefly, just barely. “Well, I mean, I’ll try to explain it,” he says tentatively, not unkindly, “to the extent that any kind of sexual attraction can really be… understood. It’s just – it’s a few things, actually. I’ll start with the simplest explanation, yeah?”

“Sure,” Jon agrees with a nod. He's mostly just thankful that Martin is even entertaining the topic of discussion, that he isn't put off or insulted by Jon's insatiable thirst for understanding. Then again, he thinks, if that were an issue for Martin, he wouldn't be here in the first place.

“You know I think your voice is gorgeous,” Martin tells him, all matter-of-fact, as if it’s nothing, as if he can’t feel Jon’s heartbeat speed up in response. “But when you’re angry – it becomes just, just _outrageously_ sexy, all deep and gravelly and dark. And your little scowl? It’s – you frown so deep that it… it’s like it unlocks a primal instinct in me, and I get this – this visceral _need_ to kiss it better. Stronger than any kind of hunger or thirst, just that urge drowning everything else out, like I can't think about anything else until I fix it.”

Blushing furiously, bashful under the weight of Martin’s attention and affection, Jon presses his lips together in a thin line before taking a breath and prompting: “What’s the less simple explanation?”

Martin gives him a dopey little smile and presses a gentle kiss against his temple, buying himself time to think. "It's like… I don't want to say you’re hot when you’re angry, like your distress is just a show of sex appeal for my enjoyment, or like your anger is desirable, you know?" He speaks hesitantly now, slow and unsure, pausing for a length between sentences, as if he expects Jon to interrupt, which he won't. "I love you and I’m not about to let you believe that I’m more attracted to you when you’re upset. It’s not that.”

Having established what it _isn't,_ Martin finds he's still having trouble figuring out what it is, exactly. He furrows his brow and takes a breath again, and Jon sits tight and waits patiently for him to proceed. “It’s… seeing you care so deeply about something is always gonna be a turn on,” Martin says, almost shy about it, “and the fact that it’s me is just.. unbelievable, really. The protectiveness and the passion and the care, it’s just – it’s a lot, frankly."

"Okay,” Jon mutters half to himself, then straightens his back and tilts his head. “So you’re not just, like… hot for me yelling?"

"God, no,” Martin answers with a short laugh, a loud roll of his eyes. “If you ever tried speaking to me like that, I’d – I don’t know what I’d do, but I definitely wouldn't be turned on. No. It’s just your protective urge and your heroism and your fiery determination.”

Jon’s chest constricts at that, his face softening. Martin stops for a moment to brush a thumb over Jon’s high cheekbone and look into his wide eyes before pressing on further, finishing his explanation in a low, intense voice. “Seeing you get worked up about something like that – about _me_ – it just reminds me how human you are, and how lucky I am to have you. It turns me on for a lot of reasons, but most of all, it's just because it's you."

Jon tries and fails to stifle the wobble in his voice when he replies, "Oh, alright."

Martin clears his throat, averts his eyes off to the side, suddenly bashful again. "Yeah, so. That's it in a nutshell, I think. Yeah."

Shifting against him, Jon brings a hand up to the side of Martin’s face, cranes his neck up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How are you feeling right now?”

“How do you mean?” asks Martin, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. "Oh, like..."

“Yes, I’m asking if you want to have sex right now,” Jon clarifies, Martin's hesitation highlighting the ambiguity of the question, where Jon had been sure he was being obvious. 

“I mean, yeah,” Martin answers, relaxing marginally. “Do you?”

“Definitely,” Jon assures him. 

Pursing his lips, Martin looks inside himself, takes stock of his desire, and nods once to himself. “Alright. Can I… can I suck you off?”

A smile appears on Jon’s face, small and sheepish, as a spike of heat hits him hard, deep in his gut. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing Martin say things like that; even if it’s not something Jon usually does, he still experiences the occasional physical urge, and it flows through him like a storm when Martin talks about sex. He's got such a soft voice, such a sweet demeanor, that hearing the phrase _suck you off_ escape his lips gets Jon hot and bothered almost by sheer jarring force.

That's not all, though. Nothing compares to the knowledge that Martin feels safe with him, that he allows Jon to see him with his guard down, at his most vulnerable. Nothing compares to the satisfaction of convincing Martin, even for a moment, that it's not a crime to ask for what he wants.

That thought reminds Jon abruptly that Martin is still waiting for him to answer. He shrugs with one shoulder, tries to sound nonchalant. “If that’s what you want.”

Barely quelling the urge to roll his eyes, Martin gives him a fond huff of his breath and replies fervently, “It really, really is.”

“Then by all means,” Jon says with an air of magnanimity, belying the depth of affection and gratitude he truly feels. He moves to disentangle himself from Martin, climb off of his lap and settle on the bed beside him, before looking at him expectantly.

Martin grins wide and bright at Jon, maneuvers himself to kneel before him. His fingers quickly find the waistband of Jon’s sleep shorts and strip them off, with the help of Jon lifting his hips. He’s not wearing anything underneath, sleeps more comfortably with just the baggy cotton shorts and a shirt swiped from Martin’s wardrobe, and Martin certainly isn’t about to complain about it.

“Hey,” he says softly, and Jon’s eyes snap up to his face, wide and attentive. Martin leans in to press his lips to Jon’s, warm and gentle and slow, breaks the kiss only to whisper, “I love you,” his lips brushing against Jon’s as they move.

“I love you,” Jon answers without missing a beat. It’s only too easy to say it, to let the words spill from his mouth at every possible opportunity, not a trace of uncertainty or hesitation. He’s always had a preference for the straightforward approach, once he gets past his own mental blocks, and this is no different. Martin deserves to know, he deserves to hear it. 

“Will you talk to me?” The question comes quiet and uncertain from Martin as he moves down the length of Jon's body. He lowers himself to look up at Jon’s face from between his thighs, blinking those round, soft eyes at him. “You know, like – while I’m going down on you, just… talk to me?”

Jon gives him a jerky nod of his head, understanding implicitly what he’s asking for. His hands find their way into Martin’s tight curls, tugging lightly as Martin moans in response, leaning forward to get his mouth on Jon.

“You want me to tell you how lovely I think you are?” Jon asks, his voice husky and velveteen, and Martin nods and doubles down, humming in appreciation. “God, you’re – you’re so good, Martin. I’m so lucky to have you, my darling, my love, so sweet and warm and perfect.”

He loses his train of thought, and his breath, and his entire mind, when Martin does something rather clever with his tongue. His thighs tense and tremble around Martin’s shoulders for a long moment, and then he regains his composure marginally, cards his fingers through Martin’s hair and exhales a long, shuddery breath.

The heavy sigh transforms halfway through into a contented hum, and then into a quiet moan. “Fuck,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Fuck, Martin, that’s – that feels good, sweetheart, just like that.” Using his grip on Martin’s hair for leverage, Jon bucks up against his mouth with languid rolls of his hips, groaning at the sensation. “You like that, don’t you, Martin? You like to hear you're doing a good job?"

At that, Martin gives a helpless whimper, nods his head minutely with a quick glance up to meet Jon's eyes. Jon brushes a lock of hair from his face, more for the gesture of affection than for any real hope of keeping it out of the way, and keeps his gaze on Martin's face as he continues. "You're doing so well," he murmurs. "You make me feel so good, Martin, you know that? You and your gorgeous hands and your wicked tongue and your – fuck, _everything,_ you're so good," he finishes, cutting off with a strangled whine.

Martin hums pleasantly against his hot and sensitive skin, turns his head to press his lips against Jon's thigh before returning to his work. He starts alternating tactics, licking and sucking and kissing in turn, and Jon cries out at the swirling heat in his gut, the building pressure as Martin takes him ever closer to the edge.

"God, that's so good, don't stop," Jon mumbles half hysterically. "I'm so close, Martin, fuck – _fuck."_ His hips buck up with jerky, stuttering motions, his fingers tightening in Martin's hair and pulling him closer. "God, I love you," he moans, his voice deep and rough with arousal and desperation. "You feel so good, Martin – _shit,_ right there, that's perfect."

Nestling his face in deeper between Jon's thighs, Martin squeezes his waist, rubs his thumbs firmly over his hipbones to feel the way Jon strains against him. He doesn't falter for a second in the ministrations of his tongue, working Jon harder until the wave of his orgasm finally breaks, crashing over him with a seismic force. Martin licks him through the aftershocks, hungry little whimpers escaping him, only pulling away when Jon tugs harshly at his hair.

There's a satisfied look on Martin's face that borders on smug when he straightens up and sits back on his heels. His lips are swollen and slick with spit, curving into a contented smile, and his eyes are heavy lidded as he takes in Jon's debauched state. 

"S'that good?" he mumbles, half drunk on pleasure.

"Very good," Jon replies. He reaches out a hand, wraps his fingers around Martin's wrist and pulls him into a haphazard embrace, not minding in the least how Martin stumbles over his own knees and falls on top of him clumsily. Wrapping his arms around Martin's neck, Jon kisses the top of his head, then his forehead, his cheeks, and finally his lips.

Martin sighs and melts into the kiss, relaxing against Jon's body and letting his eyes drift closed, letting his hands find purchase in Jon's shirt. He rights himself slightly, maneuvering into a better position for reaching Jon's face without pulling a muscle, and quickly finds that it also happens to be an optimal position for exacerbating his own arousal, untended as of yet. 

"Sorry," he mumbles into Jon's mouth, shifting against him in a way that could be read as either rutting on Jon's thigh or attempting to move away. 

"Why would you be sorry?" Jon asks, pulling back from the kiss to arch a quizzical eyebrow at him. "I suggested we do this, and you saw to my needs quite admirably. Don't see why you shouldn't get the same luxury."

Turning away from Jon's penetrating gaze, Martin nuzzles his overheated face into the crook of Jon's neck with a sheepish groan. He doesn't disentangle himself from Jon's grasp, though, or pull his hips back to mitigate the issue in question. "Just don't want to presume," he mumbles. "Don't want to make you uncomfortable."

The movement of Jon's lips into a soft smile rustles Martin's hair slightly. "Thank you for that," he murmurs, half teasing and half sincere. "I'm not uncomfortable. I rather like it, actually."

Martin's laugh comes out in a small puff of breath against Jon's neck. "You like it," he echoes in a deadpan tone. "Do go on."

Shifting under the comfortable weight of Martin's torso on him, Jon manages to tuck two fingers under Martin's chin, guide him to look up and meet Jon's eyes despite the awkward angle. "I mean it," Jon tells him with a fierce heat in his voice. "I love knowing that you get worked up over me, that you get hard for me. Love knowing that I turn you on."

He watches as Martin's pupils dilate, his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat, unable to respond with words. Jon allows his own expression to soften, to look at Martin with all the adoration he can muster. "God, I love you," he whispers like a confession, open and tender. "I love you and I want you. Tell me what you need, darling, let me make you feel good, please."

"Can I just – I want to rub off on you," Martin breathes, still a bit awed. "I mean... if you'd be alright with it. I just don't want to let you go right now," he says by way of explanation, squeezing his arm around Jon's chest to emphasize the point.

"Of course," Jon replies, shifting his hips up against Martin's, slipping a thigh between Martin's legs. "Want me to talk to you?"

"Always," Martin answers, a bit too quickly, and then adds as an afterthought, "please."

Jon smiles at him, adjusts the angle of his body to give him a better view of Martin's face as well as his body, wrapped around and on top of Jon's. "Yeah, that's it," he coos encouragingly as Martin presses his hips forward, rubs up on him in one firm stroke, only the thin fabric of Martin's boxers separating their skin. "Just like that, sweetheart. Take what you need, let yourself feel good, you deserve it."

Thrusting against Jon's thigh, Martin lets out a shaky breath, the air dancing over the skin of Jon's neck. "You're so amazing," he murmurs hotly into Jon's throat. "I can't believe you're mine, can't believe I get to touch you, to have you like this."

"All yours," Jon assures him in a low voice.

"All mine," Martin repeats fiercely, "and I'm all yours, too. You're so good to me, the way you care for me, the way you give me what I need. You get me so hot, Jon, all the time, just – God, you're so hot, you turn me on so much."

With a particularly forceful motion of his hips, Martin gasps softly, his forehead falling onto Jon's shoulder. Jon strokes up and down the expanse of his back, brushing a feather light kiss along the shell of his ear, and shifts his thigh up in a jerky sort of rhythm to meet Martin's thrusts. 

"You're doing so well," he whispers in Martin's ear, "my sweetheart, my Martin. So beautiful. I love seeing you like this, love being yours and watching you come and knowing that I _made_ you feel like that, that I could make you feel good."

"You do, you make me feel so good," Martin murmurs fervently, speeding up the rhythmic rolling of his hips. "I love you, Jon, you have no idea how crazy you make me..."

Trailing off with a stuttering breath, Martin lets out a choked moan, stifles it with an open mouthed kiss to the side of Jon's neck. Jon tilts his head back, rocks his thigh up in between Martin's legs and fists his hands into the fabric of Martin's shirt. A warm hum of approval rumbles through his chest as Martin sucks a mark into his throat.

"You're close, aren't you?" he breathes against the top of Martin's head. "Come for me, darling, let me hear you."

Almost instantaneously, Martin's orgasm hits him hard. There's a long, suspended moment where he stops moving, stops making his little noises, stops breathing entirely, like the furthest stretch of a rubber band, and then it snaps. Martin ruts up against Jon's leg as he comes, sensation overtaking him in waves accompanied by whines and moans against Jon's skin, pouring out of him without reservation.

Eventually, Martin goes limp and lays his head down on Jon's shoulder, nosing at the crook of his neck, and Jon squeezes him tight around his middle, kisses the top of his head. Martin gives him a tired little hum of satisfaction, but otherwise remains still and quiet, catching his breath and his bearings. Jon has no problem lying with him for as long as he'll allow.

"I love you," he says after a time, straightforward and plain. "Was that good for you?"

"Was it –," Martin cuts himself off with a short, disbelieving breath. "Yeah, Jon, it was wonderful. You're wonderful."

Jon nods his head and lets out a deep breath, relaxing his posture in a combination of relief and exhaustion. "Good. I'm glad."

Martin suppresses a goofy sort of smile that threatens at the corners of his lips, presses a gentle kiss to Jon's collarbone, then pushes up onto one elbow to see Jon's face. "So, you don't... mind?" he asks tentatively, his brows drawn up and together. "If I tell you when you do things that turn me on? Like with El- when you stood up for me?"

"No, Martin, I don't _mind,"_ Jon says dryly, though his eyes are gleaming with fondness, and when he continues, it's in a sincere tone. "I like to hear about things like that. I like it when you tell me how you feel, how I _make_ you feel."

"Okay," replies Martin, blinking a few times and smoothing out his expression with a great deal of conscious effort. "Okay, good. Good to know."

"And I really do like the sex bit, as well," Jon adds with a mischievous smile, then hastens to clarify: "Both parts, I mean. You're _so_ good with your mouth, but I honestly think the other thing might be even better."

Rolling his eyes, Martin snorts out a small laugh. "Right, I'm sure me humping your leg like a teenager was wildly appealing." He pauses, softens his expression into something warm and sweet, and adds in a low, earnest tone, "Thank you for letting me do that."

Rather than laughing with him or brushing it off, Jon surges forward to kiss Martin, slow and deep, the hand that isn't supporting his weight sliding up the length of Martin's arm and along his neck to cup his cheek gently. He slips his tongue between Martin's lips, tasting him, letting out an indulgent groan into his mouth. Martin's hand moves to mirror his, cradling Jon's face in one of his large, warm palms, grazing a thumb over Jon's sharp cheekbone.

Breaking the kiss reluctantly, Jon keeps his hand on Martin's face, looks into his eyes at so short a distance that he can still taste Martin's lips when he breathes. "I didn't _let_ you do that, like it's a _favor,"_ he says, insistent and heated. "I wanted it, and I loved it, and I'm so glad I got to see it and be a part of it."

Martin tries to turn his face away, his skin heating up again under the force of Jon's gaze and the earnest heat in his voice, but Jon moves his hand to grip his chin, firm but not forceful, and Martin can only stare back at him until Jon continues speaking. "There is no facet of your being that I don't cherish," he murmurs fervently. "I'm in this for all of it, every last part of you. I love you in spite of nothing."

It takes Martin a good length of time to process the words, to come to terms with Jon's sincerity, and to wrangle his emotions enough that he can reply without crying. "Wow," he says, though it comes out as more of a croak. He clears his throat, swallows hard, and continues in his eloquent manner, "I'm... I... thank you, Jon. I love you. Thank you."

Jon leans in to kiss him again, a single, chaste press of lips on lips. He's smiling when he pulls away, his eyes half shut and his cheeks flushed dark. Martin can't resist the contagion of his comfortable happiness; he smiles back, warmth blossoming in his chest, and shuffles closer, pulling Jon down to lie with him. 

Their limbs twine together easily, their bodies fitting snug against each other. It will be uncomfortable later, all sticky linens and sweaty backs and numb extremities, but despite their mutual knowledge of the fact, neither of them makes a move to change anything about their current situation or position. They'll deal with that later, and even that is a type of comfort, a domestic familiarity: with all their mess and all the inconveniences in life, they've never been so sure of their belonging as when they belong together.


End file.
